Harvest Moon: The Yellow Bird
by ACinBC
Summary: This is so well written that I can't believe people haven't even reviewed it yet! A quote from the user: Fairy Friend. Summary inside. [Chapter 4: Lua]
1. At the Bottom of Everything

**_Harvest Moon: The Yellow Bird_**  
_by ACinBC_

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harvest Moon. I do not own any lyrics that are written, and if I do, I will say so. I do no own the album or any of the songs this story is based on. I do not own any of the characters, just the situations I put them in and the personalities I give them.

**WARNING**: Story contains teenage bad-assyness, adult language, alcohol (and plenty of it), mild sexual content, and mild violence.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Thank you for reading my story. This story is about a young adult who used to live in Mineral Town, but returns because of circumstances. I got the plot of this story from the Bright Eyes album "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning", so if you notice any references or lyrics from them, that is why. Yes, I know this chapter is going to be extremely boring, but every story has to have a boring chapter that explains who the character is and why he or she is where he or she is. The ending of this story is going to be amazing though, I guarantee it. Expect anywhere from a day to months for each chapter because I am writing it as I go along. I am open to any comments, reviews, and constructive criticism as long as they don't bash me, my story, or the band Bright Eyes. Please read and review, and enjoy.

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**Chapter 1:  
At the Bottom of Everything**

The sky was a glorious blue outside the rectangular window with curved edges. The clouds were playing hide-and-seek with the sun as a lady with blonde hair glanced left and right on an airplane seeming high above the largest ocean.

"May I get you anything, sir?" A flight attendant asked the man sitting next to her. He seemed to be in a far off, distant area, an abnormal reverie of sorts. Or he could possibly be drunk. He had quickly drained the contents of a black flask about fifteen minutes earlier. But his eyes, those eyes she would never forget; they danced around like a flame, flickering to their own rhythm, and then turning to smoke as a pair of parted lips douses the flame. His eyes opened and closed, and tear up and went bloodshot, and grew softer and grew angrier all at the same time. That man's eyes were the color of a frosty, winter evening's sky, transparent like beryl yet sterile like a therapeutic vaccine.

"A Bloody Mary, please." His tongue rolled over the words as the woman avoided the flight attendant's gaze by looking at the magazine in her lap. It lay open to page forty-eight. She had tried to read the article a few times, but how can one read an article as arduous as this about foreigners in a third-world country that can't even be pronounced? So, she stared at the beautiful landscape pictures and indigenous tribes of this third-world country. The attendant walked off, and the blonde girl turned her gaze back to the man. The woman turned her head toward him several times and opened her mouth to start a conversation but every time she failed and words fell into unintelligible grunts or moans.

He had wispy white hair cut meticulously an inch above each ear and combed to the right. His eyebrows were more of a gray as the arced up and down as he sipped, sipped, sipped from the Bloody Mary and swallowed, swallowed, swallowed. She could almost feel the burning vodka pulsating down her throat and poisoning her arteries and veins, destroying her blood cells, and being a plague, pestilence to her brain cells. She didn't drink much anymore, not after having her son twenty-two years ago.

The man's face was severe and grave at the moment, but she could see jovial laugh lines. He must be a good grandfather, she thought to herself. At least he had a grandfather appearance to him. He wore a navy cardigan sweater with a white oxford t-shirt underneath, the collar peaking over the v-neck sweater; he had on khaki pants that were neatly dry-cleaned, black socks, and a brown belt to match his brown loafers.

"Where are you headed to?" she spoke up. The man turned his eyes towards hers, moaned, and pulled out his ticket stub.

"My hometown," he replied.

"Well, where is that?" she asked feeling elated that one of her several attempts to start a conversation might actually work. But before she knew what had happened, his drunken eyes mystified, and his head fell upon her shoulder. She let it rest there. What else could she do? He was cute like how all grandparents seem to be.

Alarms were buzzing and lights were flashing. The blonde woman opened her eyes. I must have dozed off; she thought to herself, I was feeling really bored and despondent earlier. She turned her head to see the old man with his hands folded in his lap. His head was bobbing as he placed an empty glass down, another Bloody Mary down the hatch. She looked around and saw that everyone on the plane seemed to be in a state of panic. She pulled the blind up from the window and joined the mass of people staring out the window. However, she couldn't see pass the smoke jetting out of the wing, but the childish, easy-going game of hide-and-seek among the clouds now felt like it had turned into a violent game of monkey in the middle with the airplane being the ball.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my God, I'm sorry." The woman steadily looked up. The pilot was on the speaker just crying out and bellowing and losing control of himself. A low whistle began to blow, piercing all ears' silence.

"What's happened?" she asked the man next to her as she tried to remain calm. He cleared his throat and raised his hand slightly. His fingers fell loosely as his eyes burned red. He opened his mouth to talk, and his enlarged tongue made his voice tremble.

"Well, it seems there has been a huge mechanical failure, and we are falling thirty-thousand feet above the largest ocean."

"Oh my God! You can't be serious?" Her eyes looked back out the window. My son! Will I ever see my son again? He had invited me to his apartment to visit, her thoughts rattling around her head.

"Where are we going?" she asked in a state of panic. It took him a while to answer.

"We're going to a party." _Finally_, he appeared to be drunk. She turned from the window and looked questioningly into his eyes.

"It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party." No matter how deeply she stared into his eyes he did not appear drunk at all. Besides his speech being slurred, his eyes read full sobriety.

"Happy birthday, darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much." She shook her head in shock. How could this man know it was her birthday and that she was going to visit her son to celebrate her fiftieth birthday?

"I never caught your name," he said.

"Laura, it's Laura." She looked deeply into his compassionate eyes.

"Laura, what a pretty name." She turned her eyes back to the window. The man suddenly said, "One, two, one, two, three, four," and started humming a little tune. It sounded like an Irish drinking song but flirted with a Scottish tale of a lost love. The notes and pitches danced around with one another in a conflicting way with harsh, loud downbeats and then suddenly quivered to a soft, slow tempo and back again. The man pulled out another flask and began sipping frenetically. Through the smoke and fog she saw her son's face and a tear fell down her cheek.

Fast-forward hundreds of miles away and approximately two weeks later, a young adult stood peering into the water on a bridge south of a farm. His feet dangled over the water as he stared at the water. The tears rolled freely down his cheeks and stuck in the stubble on his face; he hadn't shaved in days. His brown hair hadn't been combed in days either, and the back of his hair flew and stuck out loosely; the front of his hair appeared better than the back, he had matted the top down with water and flung his hair to the right so his bangs curled to the right. His skin was pale in the bitter late Winter weather. He had on a white long-sleeved oxford t-shirt, black slacks, and brown suede slip-on type loafers with loose laces. He was thin, thinner than usual. A cigarette hung loosely on his cracked lips. He sucked on it every now and then but mostly just let it hang there as ashes fell into the water below. The water was a deep gray and splashed roughly on the shore. Brave fish were traversing against the current swimming trying to find warmer water. The sky was gray and clouded. Everything was mourning with him.

"Hey, Conner…" A strong but timid voice uttered. Conner turned and looked upon the only 'father' figure he had had in his life. His real dad hadn't been too fatherly.

Doug, the owner of the inn at Mineral Town, slowly stepped forward. He had his orange-red hair loosely fallen forward, and his orange moustache was now surrounded by red stubbles. Apparently, Doug hadn't shaven in a while either. His eyes looked weak but not tearful. His daughter, Ann, was behind him. Her orange hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had on a white shirt with blue denim overalls. She had freckles and was extremely tomboyish, but she was definitely beautiful. Conner fretfully wiped his eyes and stuttered, "Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry, you know—" His daughter cut him off.

"We both are."

"Yes, we both are. And you know you can stay with us—" Again he was cut off, but this time by Conner.

"No. I want to stay here at my mom's home." Doug appeared hurt.

"Al-alright," He said with difficulty. Conner didn't care at the moment if he hurt anyone. He knew he would sooner or later regret what he just said, but it didn't bother him now. He did, however, stand up and approach Doug. He grasped him stalwartly for having lost someone so dear to him. He motioned for Ann to join in on the hug.

"I love you, guys," Conner said weakly as tears began falling. They all joined in on a good cry.

"We love you too," they said.

Conner sat in his room a few minutes later and stared at the walls. It had been five years since he had been in this room, and it looked exactly like how he had left it. The walls were white. The ceiling was white. The carpet was white. Everything calm, sterile, collected, refined, and annoying. That's why he had left. He hated the town. He hated most of the people even though they were the kindest people he had ever met. He hated feeling stuck in the town with barely one hundred residents and without any other town around for many, many miles.

Mineral Town was a quaint, pastoral town. It had one road that lead to a highway that lead to an interstate. Every other road was a walking road. The roads were cobblestone with their own unique patterns of circles, arrows, and lines. The town had a library, a supermarket, a clinic, a church, a winery, an inn, a blacksmith shop, a shack on the beach that sold food in the summer, a dock, a nice beach with a nice view of the ocean, a lake, mines, a spring, a river, a waterfall, a woodcutter, and three farms. The town had everything it needed. They grew and cooked their own food and needed no one or anything from the outside world. That's why Conner hated it. He had always been destined for city life but had been trapped in rural hell.

After he had finished his studies and got a high school diploma, he moved to New York City where he attended New York University and majored in music while minoring in photography. While attending college, he rented an apartment and got a job playing his trumpet and singing at bars and other locations. The barhopping only earned him a few bucks on tips, so he also did some freelance photography in his spare time. Eventually he got a part-time job at a local and popular café. His mom visited him often and didn't approve of some of his habits. He became an obsessive alcoholic and a chain smoker mostly to deal with the depression of not feeling good enough or feeling that he had caused his parents' divorce over fifteen years ago. The last time he had talked to his mom was to invite her to New York to celebrate her birthday. She had enjoyed the city, go-go life but preferred rural life.

Conner began to flip through his old diaries. He knew his mom had read some entries of them, but she loved him too much to ever really delve into them. He had been a rebel in the villagers' eyes. He didn't belong. Girls wanted to date him. Parents wanted to get rid of him. He had done strange things as a kid. The old preacher said he was going to hell. The old doctor said he was crazy. He probably was crazy and probably was going to hell, but he didn't care. He read one quick entry from when he was eight.

_Summer 23rd_

_Another boring day. I am really sick and tired of this town. After eating and doing my morning chores, I continued my never-ending task of prank calling. I first went to the phone at the inn and prank called all the kids I knew. They don't mind. They find it funny. I then ran to the phone booth and called as many adult numbers I could remember, pranking them about their refrigerators running. They didn't find it very funny, which just made it hilarious to me. I then came home and spent the rest of the afternoon, evening, and night teaching myself as much as I could about computers. I am really getting the hang of HTML and Java. I can't wait to start learning C++. I finally was able to break the library's firewall, and I started arranging the books on their online card catalog incorrectly. Mary will really get angry. She's cute when she's angry. I don't understand why her parents let her work in the library. She's only nine, so hopefully her parents will blame her for the mess-up._

Conner mostly did what he read on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He spent Tuesdays and Thursdays doing what he read next.

_Summer 24th_

_Lame. But whatever. Mary didn't know I messed up her computer system, but boy, was she angry. I spent the morning talking to her. She's really nice although a complete bookworm. I wonder what she would look like without glasses. I went fishing for lunch and caught a couple fish. I cooked them and brought Mary some. She liked it. I then left and sneaked back in. I then ran around ripping out every epilogue in books I could find. If they didn't have an epilogue, I would rip out the aftermath or the last chapter. I just hate how authors think that 'the end' is the end. Nothing ever ends. They need to learn this, so I'm teaching them this. I then wrote random messages into books whenever I wanted._

Conner did rip out every ending in every book at the library and eventually burnt the pages. It took many seasons for him to do it, but he did accomplish the feat. He then made himself braver by watching the news and reading newspapers and staring into the faces of criminals that would be executed in some big town. At first he would shudder, but he eventually made himself strong telling himself they would never hurt him.

Conner grabbed another diary and flipped the pages randomly. He found an entry from when he was twelve.

_Summer 11th_

_My medicine stockpile is growing greater and greater daily. I started out with only medicines I had and my mom had. I would then ask some of the local kids if I could go to their houses. While there, I would sneak off into their bathrooms and steal as many pills as I could. Just today I hit the jackpot when I was able to convince the doctor to run out of the clinic to help someone. I stole so many pills; it was amazing. Valiums and Darvons, Premarins, Aldactones, Estinyls, Estraces, Darvocets, Percodans, Compazines, Nembutals, Percocets, Oral estrogens, Anti-androgens, Progestons, painkillers, antidepressants, flu pills, cold pills, sinus pills, testosterone pills, anything and everything. I have them all hidden in my sock drawer. I take some every now and then but not enough to kill myself. Just enough to get a buzz, and what a wonderful buzz! The whirling and twirling and spinning and flying. It's amazing. I love it, but I won't let myself get addicted. I found these to sell them. I read in a recent magazine that a lot of prescription pills were not going to be made anymore, and I know there are worse pill-popping junkies than me out there that will need their pills. I have already created the website, and I only have to pay twenty bucks a month to use the hosting site. Once people start buying, I will be rich._

Conner's plan worked significantly well. He earned almost a thousand dollars by the time his stock was depleted, and once he ran out, he shut down the site. He put the money in a shoebox and marked the box 'Getting Out of Here' money. He knew he wasn't the smartest kid, and since home schooling wasn't going to get him in the finest universities, he had to have some sort of plan to get out of town.

Conner turned many pages ahead and found another entry.

_Fall 9th_

_This preacher is really starting to get on my nerves. He found out about my prescription pill market (what do you know? Priests can be junkies too!) and brought it out into the open after explaining why he found the site (although not mentioning he bought a crapload of estrogen patches from me). I think he's gay. I have a plan to end him. Here's what I'm going to need: gasoline, matches, and a dildo. He's gonna be out of this town by the 13th; I guarantee it._

Conner was right. He broke into the church in the middle of the night, poured gasoline on his hands, and wrote on the wall. He then threw a match at the message, and it read, "Hell will come one day, but for you, it is today. Oh, you sad, sad woman. Like your present? It's in the Bible." Conner hid the dildo in the Bible with a one hundred dollar bill attached to a sticky note that read: "Buy yourself the vagina you want." The preacher took Conner's advice and left town. Conner had warned the priest on countless occasions to not mess with him, but he had crossed the line by almost getting him arrested by revealing his stash. Months later, Conner repented to the new priest, Carter, whom he liked a lot better. They got to know one another and became acquaintances.

Conner turned ahead some more.

_Fall 15th_

_I think I just wrote the best song ever. As you know, I've been researching as many anarchists and rebels known in history and after learning as much about them as I can I normally get inspiration to write a song lyrically and sometimes even musically. But this most recent song is the best, and I have to tell you about it, diary. This song is about how I used to sit on the roof and watch mom water plants on the farm and father load his twelve gauge shotgun elsewhere, the time I am recalling in the song was when I was five. I find all of it extremely ironic (ironic, I learned that word a few days ago! I've been using it as much as possible). Love, new birth, and kindness growing from mom while hate, death, and destruction brewed from father. Dad was a really rough drunk. Although he normally was verbally angry when he was drunk, at times he would beat mom or me. But the weird thing was that he would say some really profound things when drunk like when he said, "Death will bring us back to God just like the setting sun is returned to the lonesome ocean." I never really understood the insightfulness of the statement, but I would have to say that I agree. That's what the song is about._

Conner turned the page.

_Fall 17th_

_Recently I've been performing my songs at the inn to all of the alcoholics. The songs I play on the piano Doug supplies are normally sad while the ones I play on the acoustic guitar mom bought me are normally happy, or angry. I also play my trumpet sometimes. I've only been earning a few bucks in tips every time I do it, but the song I told you about a few days ago has helped me earn almost one hundred dollars! They seem to like it so much. It makes me happy. The song I wrote incorporates all three: piano, guitar, and trumpet. It ranges from sad to happy to lively to slow, and it ends with a big trumpet explosion. I love it. I can't wait to make more songs like it._

Rewind hundreds of miles away and approximately two weeks earlier, the sound of the plane hitting the water made Laura's ears hurt, and blood gushed from her outer ears. She looked at the man next to her. He was still humming the song. It had the same tune of a song Conner had written years before.

"Where'd you hear that song?" she asked in desperation. The man wrapped his arms around her in a comforting way. He was somber but happy.

"That was a wonderful splash, wasn't it?" Water gushed into the airplane quickly. "Sing along, please," he commanded. She sang the words as he hummed. Her voice was weak and shook, so she grabbed the flask and chugged some whiskey. She felt it warm her. She felt happier. Although he wasn't there, she felt like Conner was there with the song flowing from her lips. The ocean swallowed them up.

Fast-forward hundreds of miles away and approximately two weeks later, another page turned in Conner's diary as he recalled his childhood. This entry was from when Conner was fourteen.

_Summer 17th_

_I joined the church's choir. Mostly because mom asked me to, she said she wanted people to hear me outside of drunken stupors. We had our first practice today. I love singing, don't get me wrong, but I hate having to blend. I'm a soloist. I hate blending and singing static with the whole. We have to memorize nine numbers! It's insane. In a group you have no soul. You are just one. I don't want to deny I have a soul because I do have one. Whatever. I'll do it as long as it makes mom happy._

Conner quit the choir a few weeks later and went back to singing solo and playing his trumpet.

Conner grabbed his teenage diaries. He flipped through pages reading brief accounts of the many lyrics and random statements he had written when he was drunk. Conner would hang out in the church's belfry when he wanted to get drunk. He would get so wasted he could hear the bats and moonlight laugh and wrote lyrics about bats and the moon. The world spun constantly and he spent days up there until the alcohol depleted and the hangovers ceased. When he was sixteen, he bought a crystal ball and learned how to use it, but when he tried to see his future, he only saw his past. On nights when he had no alcohol, Conner would take a flashlight and his trumpet with his love of music and go into the caverns way deep in the mines. He would play and play and play. The noise was exhilarating as the frequencies bounced off the stalagmites, stalactites, and walls. He would often not come up for days as he just played and sang and thought. He thought about where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. He thought a lot while down there.

Rewind hundreds of miles away and approximately two weeks earlier, Conner's mom continued singing and singing.

Fast-forward hundreds of miles away and approximately two weeks later, Conner read his last entry in his last diary. It was a song that he wrote before he left for New York City. He smiled weakly recalling the times he sang it all over New York and over the phone to his mom. He started singing.

Rewind.  
The words echoed off the plane as tears rolled down her cheek.  
Fast-forward.  
The words echoed off the wall as tears rolled down his cheek.  
Rewind.  
"Oh, my morning's coming back—"  
Fast-forward.  
"The whole world's waking up—"  
Rewind.  
"All the city buses swimming past—"  
Fast-forward.  
"I'm happy just because—"  
Rewind.  
Fast-forward.  
Repeat.  
Repeat.  
"I found out I am really no one."

They both screamed into the somber silence. Tears burning their pores, tracing their noses and lips. Their vocal chords tearing as they screamed the last words. Spit flying.

The bubbles traveled upward as Laura continued singing underwater. Her hair billowed around her, and the salt burnt her eyes, but she kept singing. She sang until she lost all oxygen and drowned.

Conner fell to the floor and threw his diary against the wall. He dragged himself to the kitchen and opened up a bottle of wine his mother had received as a present. He looked for a wine glass, found none, and just drank from the bottle. He swallowed, swallowed, swallowed. He finished the wine bottle and went through celebratory champagne and wine. Enter celebratory depressant. Exit all vision, judgment, and coordination. The morning will bring a brand new day.

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**A/N**: I had no idea how to end the chapter, so I kinda just did. Again, please r/r. I'm sorry for such a long and boring chapter, but please continue reading my story. Again, thank you. 


	2. We Are Nowhere, And It's Now

**_Harvest Moon: The Yellow Bird_**  
_by ACinBC_

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harvest Moon. I do not own any lyrics that are written, and if I do, I will say so. I do no own the album or any of the songs this story is based on. I do not own any of the characters, just the situations I put them in and the personalities I give them.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: You know, I wrote the first draft of the first chapter many months ago in a plan to write a novella of sorts, but then I wanted people to read it so I conformed it into the only way possible: a Harvest Moon setting. Now, I do have the video game Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, but I have not gotten very far in the game, so please don't hate me if any personalities, stories, descriptions, or anything else is incorrect. This story will not follow the storyline of the game; it is simply a story with Harvest Moon characters. I do plan on writing more of these kinds of stories, but I don't know because I plan to write a lot and I don't think they will be able to all fit into Mineral Town. So, I may venture into other game formats of the series, but that will come when it comes. Also, know that I edited the first chapter; I didn't do much. All I did was edit the warning, some grammar, and made the chapter name into the song title it is based on. From now on I will use chapter names as the songs they are based off of. Anyways, on to chapter two, please enjoy.

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**Chapter 2:  
We Are Nowhere, And It's Now**

Conner pulled himself up off the linoleum kitchen floor. Bottles lay in disarray with a soft pitter-patter of their dribbles splashing and leaving soft puddles of red or bubbly gold. The light shining through the kitchen window was vague and weak but burned fiercely into Conner's pupils. Everything was hazy and bright. The ceiling above him was spinning as he tried to grasp a hold on reality.

Conner ambled slowly towards the bathroom using the wall as a guide. When he reached the toilet he let the burning insides of him spew into the pale white oval. His esophagus burned as he spent the next twenty minutes throwing himself into the drain.

Conner eventually reached the sink to brush his teeth. He then dragged himself into his bedroom and fell back asleep.

A light breeze awakened Conner. After several minutes of gaining his bearings, he dashed into the bathroom and threw up nothing since he hadn't eaten in days. He closed his eyes. The hangover was fading, but his head still pounded as the alcohol continued a slower path pursuing blood in his veins. He pulled himself into the kitchen and ate some bread, the only thing he could really keep down whilst hung over. He noticed the door was open; he had forgotten to shut it.

Conner turned towards the calendar hanging in the kitchen. He couldn't figure out what day it was. He finished the slices of bread he had grasped and grabbed a water bottle and filled it with water. He started drinking rapidly trying to defeat the dehydration he had endured through being asleep for more than a day.

After a few minutes of staring at the wall, Conner pulled himself back into the bathroom where he took a long, warm bath. He then walked into his bedroom, opened his suitcase, and put on a navy t-shirt with the name of a band he had been in while he lived in New York, dark denim jeans, white ankle socks, black slip-on Converse, and a thin black choker on his neck. He didn't bother to fix his hair and by the time it dried there was a gap in the right of his bangs and some strands of hair stuck up elsewhere. He headed out into the grim afternoon.

The sky was an unusual shade of gray and blue as it recovered from the continuous downpour of rain. The weather seemed to be improving though as there were some clear patches of light blue and clouds off in the distance, but the sky hanging over Mineral Town was ambiguous.

Conner wasn't exactly sure where he was going; he just let his feet guide him. He meandered slowly as he passed First Street, Second Street, and turned on Third Street. The whole walk took about forty minutes. He decided to enter Jeff's supermarket but was interrupted when Carter approached him with a watering bin in his hands. The weeds in front of the church were in need of watering so they could become bravura flowers.

"Conner!" Conner winced at the volume of Carter's voice. "I haven't seen you in forever. How've you been?" The town's priest was wearing a black priest's outfit with dark brown lining around the collar and on the zipper. He also had a white cloth draped around his neck that was finely embroidered with blue shapes. His dirty blonde hair was parted wildly to his right. His eyes were blue, and a smile was constantly painted across his face.

"I've been better," Conner mumbled blearily.

"Well that's great, why don't you follow me inside the church; it's awfully cold out here." Conner nodded apprehensively.

The church was large for the small community. The religion of the town was more or less Roman Catholic, but the deity of the church was a Goddess who supposedly resided in the town's lake. Three pews were placed on the left and ride side of the church, and a red carpet with gold lining led the way from the door to the pulpit where their version of a bible was placed. One could enter the confessional booth from a door to the right, and a door to the left led outside to the church's private quarters. Many candles and other churchlike decorative items were tossed askew throughout the church to add a touch to its cold and dim lighted aesthetic, however on extremely sunny summer days the church was vibrant and more pleasing. Copious shards of glass reflected many colors of the rainbow and were placed in windows to tell stories. The most genial of all the stained glass windows was one of the Goddess dressed in her alluring blue dress with her long, flowing green hair pulled into a ponytail and a placid look draped across her face. Her beauty was astounding. The window alone made the stony, gray of the church seem the more likeable.

Carter guided Conner to the front pew as he rambled on and on about how pretty his leonidas roses would be once they blossomed. Carter placed the bin down and they sat in the uncomfortable and hard wooden pews.

"So, what finally brings you outside of your mother's house? It's been three days since I heard you arrived!" Carter exclaimed.

"I ran out of wine," Conner said candidly.

"That's not the best thing to do…" Carter ran off, his voice filled with concern.

"I know. It's a bad habit; I actually hate the taste of wine."

"Well, if you hate the taste of wine, why do you drink it 'til you're blind?" he questioned. Conner raised his muddy eyes to meet Carter's troubled azure ones. Conner leaned forward, placed his elbows on his legs, held his hands together, and twiddled his thumbs.

"I don't know," Conner began to explain. "There's no truth in the world anymore. I honestly just haven't cared much about living recently." His voice resonated knowledge as he tried to explain himself.

"And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares, how come you say it like you're right?"

"What do you want from me?" Conner's voice started rising slowly. "I just can't find much light in the world."

"Have you tried religion, my son? It's been so long since I've ever seen you happy."

"Religion is dead for me. I can't be forgiven for the things I've done and may do. And besides, I fear judgment."

"Why are you scared to dream of the Goddess, when it's salvation that you want?" Conner sighed.

"I don't know. I just want to move on with my life, but I don't know what's out there. I just want to find something, I guess. I don't know what it is, but I know I have to search for it. I might as well continue here."

"You see stars that clear have been dead for years," Carter said wisely "but the idea just lives on." Conner turned his head back up to meet Carter's gaze. He had had enough. He stood up to leave.

"What do you want from me?" He almost shouted at the man. Carter's eyes turned away in pain.

"I just want you to be happy," he replied.

"Thank you for your time," Conner said pensively to his old friend as he headed out the door.

* * *

The sounds of waves crashing on rocks miles out soothed Conner's flaming temper. He had spent hours sitting behind a rock next to the shore. The moon and stars were out in full force, lighting the sea for miles beyond the horizon. Cigarette butts lay erratically around him. A bottle of wine lay half-empty next to him as he stared at the stars.

"What is it I want? What is it I'm searching for?" Conner heard crunching in the sand around him and arced his back to see whom it was. A beautiful, angelic figure roamed the shore staring off into the distance. Her flowing brown hair reached her lower back and blonde highlights plagued the naturally beautiful hair in the bangs. She had on a sleeveless white t-shirt with a sleeveless mauve vest. A white sweater draped her shoulders to keep out the bitter cold and ocean zephyrs. Short denim shorts were tightly wrapped around her vibrant winter paled legs, and brown sandals were on her feet. She slowly took the sandals off and walked forward to let the freezing water wrap around her legs. She continued staring out before the breeze caught up the scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol and guided her to where Conner was sprawled watching the picturesque girl.

"Mind if I join you?" The girl said, hungrily eyeing the wine bottle. Conner merely nodded. He remembered her from years ago but couldn't place her name.

"Wow, Conner, it's been so long," she opened as the wine warmed her.

"Yes… it has," he said slowly trying to recall her name while trying to be inconspicuous with eyeing her perky breasts.

"What has it been? Four years?" she questioned. He nodded.

"I turned twenty-one this past fall," she spoke hoping Conner would somehow remember her.

"Karen?" he asked. She smiled warmly.

"I see you've become quite a hard alcoholic," she said smelling the past weeks ventilate through his pores, alcohol and nicotine. He nodded again.

"I'm awfully sorry for your loss." Her words were clichéd. It seemed like he had somehow passed almost every visitor on his way to Aja Winery and then to the beach. They all had the same thing to say. He nodded a third time. They sat there in silence for many minutes before Karen turned her now rosy face to him.

"When's the funeral going to be?"

"I don't know yet, maybe next Tuesday. I've got to run it over with Carter," he thought out loud. Carter probably was still hurt but would definitely help his friend. They sat in silence for several more minutes before Karen stood up.

"I'm gonna go. Mind if I take this?" she held up the wine bottle. He shook his head and watched as she walked off.

"Wait!" he called out.

"Yeah?" she hollered back.

"You wanna just ditch town? I could show you places you've probably never seen before." She took a few seconds to ponder the question before replying.

"Sure," and she walked home.

* * *

As Conner walked home, his feet merely guided him like wheels that roll around. He watched the ground as he hovered over it and thought about Karen. He felt trapped in between a past and future town as he thought about her.

There was no present as he made his way back to the farm south of the village. He barely recalled her from when he lived there. For as long as he could remember, she had had a scent of wine on her breath, but he couldn't ever remember why. Maybe she was just another hopeless addict of the vile substance, but that didn't matter to Conner, he was addicted too no matter how much he denied it. He just couldn't remember anything about her, and that bothered him greatly. He felt like his memories were nowhere, but they were now. He couldn't quite place the anomalous feeling as his slowly depleting brain cells whisked through the batter to find her face. She simply felt like a ten minute dream one would have in the passenger's seat while the world flies by; a dream that can't be remembered but the dreamer knows it occurred. He hadn't been gone very long from Mineral Town, but it certainly felt like a lifetime.

Suddenly a delicate memory came back to him. They were maybe sixteen or seventeen, and they stood ready to head down into the depths of the spring mine when Karen had recalled a story she had been told as a child.

"_Back in the days when they first created this mine," she began, "the diggers would have a cage of canaries, and would send them down the mines to find out if there was a lack of oxygen or any other dangerous gases. If the canary died or never came back, then they knew that something was wrong, and so they didn't send the humans down."_

Conner shook his head as the memory floated out of his head like a wisp of wind. He sighed as he entered his mother's home and fell asleep on his old bed.

* * *

For the next week, Conner spent time with Carter reconciling for the way he had acted earlier and planning out the simple funeral service the town would hold in memory of Laura. He also wrote a song he planned to play at the service.

The funeral was planned to contain a simple wake where instead of a body there was the most recent photograph of Laura before she died; everyone would then pay their respects to Conner as he stood indignantly on the side. After that Carter would say a few words, Conner would say a few words, Conner would play his song, and then they would stand around a headstone Carter graciously bought to be placed in the graveyard on the left side of the church. Conner would have preferred to have his mother's body buried, but there was nothing he could do about that.

* * *

On the day of the funeral Conner wore a long-sleeved sky blue oxford t-shirt with blue jeans wrapped around his waist. The shirt was untucked, the sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up to a few inches in front of his elbows, and the top button on the shirt was unbuttoned. A light red t-shirt was worn as an undershirt and a casual brown belt kept the jeans from falling off his skinny hips. He had on his usual low-tops Converse. His hair was nonchalantly combed and flung to the side, and his face was still unshaven. Dark circles had formed around his eyes from crying, lack of sleep, and an over consumption of alcohol.

Conner stood at the front of the church where a gorgeous picture of his mother and him was placed next to him on the pulpit. The picture had been taken in New York City the last time she had visited. They both had looked so happy and content with one another's presence with not a care in the world for that brief moment.

Everyone from town came that day; Gotz even ventured out from his shack on the north border of the forest to the south of town, and Kai braved the winter current to come also. Even some of the townspeople from the town to the west came to pay their respects because Conner's mom had touched so many people's lives with her presence. Most everyone was surprised to have Conner back, and most of the adults were goaded that he was back. A lot of the teenage girls swooned recalling times Conner had flirted with them, and a lot of their 'callers' were nervous about their suddenly flirtatious reaction to having Conner back in town. The only people who seemed exceptionally happy to have him back were Carter, Doug, Ann, and the always happy and blithe Mayor Thomas.

"Please, would everyone sit down and get quiet?" Carter commenced politely. "We are all here to remember a fine woman who graced our town with her presence…" Carter's speech was as beautiful as Conner could've imagined. Tears dribbled down his cheeks to the conclusion of the priest's speech where he reminisced some of the times he shared with Laura and things she did for the town. Many other audience members were dabbing tears from the corners of their eyes, mostly women and Doug who bawled loudly.

After the speech Carter invited Conner up to share a few words. A deafening silence crossed over the crowd like an extreme wave of fog cutting their audibility off from the world. Conner eased his way up to the wooden podium and cleared his throat vociferously with the microphone emanating his voice.

"Umm…" he began feebly, "I, er, thank you all for coming to my mother's funeral; I'm sure she would have appreciated it." Conner looked around at the crowd. He had no idea what to say or any idea of what these people wanted to hear. He cleared his throat and picked up his trumpet.

"I, uh, wrote this song for my mom recently," he said as he licked his lips and blew a few raspberries to get them prepared. He moved over to the organ bench and placed his trumpet there. Carter handed him a microphone with a microphone stand, and Conner adjusted it while he sat on the bench. He pulled a crumpled piece of white notebook paper out of his pocket and placed it on the stand attached to the organ. Clear tear stains and red wine stains plagued the black ink which hadn't dried by the time he had folded the paper up, so the music was additionally beleaguered by black ink. But Conner was used to reading the music he wrote this way. He sighed a bit as he blew his lips once more and brought the trumpet's mouthpiece to his lips.

Conner held the trumpet with his right hand and used that hand to press the valves down as he used his left hand to play simple chords on the keyboard. The chords fit fragilely with the trumpet notes that were simple scale maneuvers, but it all sounded so peaceful. He rose slowly up a scale and slurred around a bit with the top few notes. He quickly pulled the trumpet from his face and placed more attention to the organ as he opened his mouth and took a deep gust of air into his lungs.

"I've been sleeping so strange at night—" he wailed into the microphone with his soothing voice. He quickly played two ascending notes before three descending notes on his trumpet.

"Side effects they don't advertise—" he sang before the playing the same trumpet notes with a few organ chords.

"I've been sleeping so strange—" he did his quick maneuvers again.

"With a head full of pesticide," maneuvered. He then played a few more high notes on the trumpet before switching all focus to the organ. He ended the short song with a quiet flurry of eighth notes before ending with a soft, low chord.

Conner turned around on the piano bench to inspect his audience's reaction. All of the teenagers stood up and applauded loudly with many cheers. Carter, Doug, and a few other kind adults also joined in, but the rest of the adults either clapped politely or whispered cheekily. As Conner placed his trumpet in its black, leather case, he felt his ears itching.

* * *

**  
**Conner stayed long after the ceremony had ended. He felt the tears try to escape the forest of his five-o'clock shadow but didn't mind them. He stared at the engraved passage of his mother's cold, gray tombstone. 

"_Laura Disedare,_

_A Loving Mother and_

_Town's member._

_1956-2006_

_R.I.P."_

Conner sighed as he looked down at all of the flowers people had placed on her bodiless burial plot. He shook his head as he felt the salt escape his eyes again. A rose dangled precariously from Conner's tightly clenched palm. He felt blood trickle through his fingers, and he heard it hit the grass. He didn't care. He had no plans and too much time. Eventually, he dropped the red rose and turned to walk away; he turned when he heard it fall to the ground making a sound almost familiar to a plane splashing into the ocean. He walked slowly back to his mother's home, a cigarette lit in his mouth as he blew smoke and let the wind carry it away.

* * *

Conner plopped himself down on the couch. He grabbed a bottle that was sitting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips. Nothing rolled down his throat. He sighed as he peered into the bottle and saw only droplets of the liquid left. He had forgotten to get more alcohol that day. He sat up and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and peered into it. He had a couple of gold left, but the winery was closed. Besides, he felt too restless to unwind. He checked the cat clock across the wall in the kitchen his mother had allotted. 6_:49 PM._ He had a few minutes before the bar opened.

Conner got up and headed out the door staring up at the cold, winter sky as it changed magnificently from blue to pink to orange to red to purple. He eventually immersed himself in thought, getting lost in it as he walked the block to his favorite neon sign.

He stood outside of the Inn and stared at the sign he had grown to love over the years. The word 'Inn' was in bright red surrounded by bright neon green. Below the word more words read: Bar hours 19:00 – 21:00. Just enough for the tranquil town's folk to get drunk, Conner thought to himself.

He entered the Inn a few minutes before seven and sat at a table in the corner, secluding himself from the world. Ann approached him wearing her waitresses' apron with a concerned look curtained on her face blocking the warmth and sunlight from shining. She looked at Conner and sighed quietly.

"Vodka," he said; he had had enough of the soft liquor his mother owned. She nodded and walked to the bar to pour him a glass of vodka. She brought it over to him and watched as he drained it.

"Keep 'em comin'," He slurred. She eventually just brought out the bottle before heading over to the jukebox. She turned it on to a soothing folk song and turned as she started humming. Conner hummed along as he smiled back at her.

Karen came to the bar after work at her parents' superstore. A large sweater covered her body, and a khaki skirt graced her legs. Conner waved her over and she sat down, her features had already started to blur to him, but her hair and face was still as elegant as ever.

She said, "These bars are filled with things that kill." She rolled her eyes as Ann handed her wine, the usual for Karen.

"We probably should have learned," she finished. Conner simply nodded as he sipped on his vodka bottle, the burning sensation on his throat had already given way and the tears from the burning had already dried; the vodka was calming him.

* * *

"I don't even know why I came here," Conner confessed. "I think I'm in over my head. I don't know what I'm going to do. My mom would want me to stay, but I'm no farmer. And I have a life in New York and an apartment." Karen was rolling her eyes as she sipped more and more wine.

"Did you forget that yellow bird?" she said. He turned his head to face her incredulously. His eyes wouldn't focus on her face, and his head bobbled. She shook her head knowing the answer.

"How could you forget your yellow bird?" Conner laid his head down and rested his aching head. Why couldn't he answer? Why hadn't he thought of the consequences before coming down to Mineral Town? There was no explanation, only excuses. He sighed and answered truthfully, "I don't know."

Karen reached into her purse and pulled out a metal brooch. She smiled as she pinned it onto Conner's light blue oxford shirt. It was a small silver wreath ordained to be beautiful. It appeared several years old because the paint was chipping, and the underlining silver looked tarnished. The wreath was more or less a yellow-green tree or bush with a few limbs visible. In the upper left hand of the tree a small bird was perched looking ahead.

She said, "This one will bring you love." Conner looked down at it and compulsively wiped dust from it and smiled.

"Thank you," he replied as he drained the last bit of his vodka.

"I'll see you later," he mumbled as he placed a few gold on the table for Ann as a tip. He left the building into the wintry night air and made his way back home.

* * *

Conner stared at himself blearily in the mirror on his mother's bureau in her bedroom. He looked at the brooch and watched as the bird took flight into the air and floated all around before re-perching itself on the limb.

"I don't know if it's true," he spoke eloquently, "but I'll keep it for good luck." And he turned around, turned off the lights, and perched himself on his mother's bed waiting for sleep to whisk him away.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed that chapter. It took me the longest time to write the whole funeral scene; I could've finished this chapter a lot sooner if I had planned ahead for the funeral, but ah well… I think it came out fine enough. I hope you didn't get confused with the song scene at the funeral, and I hope this chapter wasn't too boring. Thanks for those who commented, and look forward to the next addition. 


	3. An Old Soul Song for the New World Order

_**Harvest Moon: The Yellow Bird**_  
_by AcinBC  
_  
**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harvest Moon. I do not own any lyrics that are written, and if I do, I will say so. I do no own the album or any of the songs this story is based on. I do not own any of the characters, just the situations I put them in and the personalities I give them.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: I apologize for the two-month delay. With school starting in August and all of my extracurricular activities and homework and such, I have had barely any time to work on this story. I also apologize for how short this chapter is. I had proposed it to be around four thousand words, yet it turned out to be only two thousand. I guess I accomplished what I had tried to accomplish when I started this chapter, even with two thousand short words. Anyways, I would like to thank all of those who have added me as their favorite author, added this story as their favorite story, reviewed, and even just looked at the story; it really means a lot to me. I am glad you all like my vagueness and style of writing; personally, I thought it would drive readers off. Anyways, just so you know the story probably won't get any happier than this chapter does. It is separated into four sections because I combined songs. I also apologize for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. I was so eager to get this chapter done I only proofread it once compared to my average of three times. I also apologize for any confusion. When I uploaded this chapter, only half of it uploaded, so I copied and pasted the rest. So, let me know if there are any parts that make no sense by emailing me at: correroa cox . net (without the spaces and with the 'at' symbol between correroa and cox).

I hope you all like this chapter.

**

* * *

**

Chapter 3:  
**An Old Soul Song (For the New World Order)**

**Part I: An Old Soul Song**

Gray light, a new day, leaked through the window. An old soul song came on the alarm clock radio. Conner pulled himself up out of the queen-sized bed in his apartment and wiped his eyes. The morning felt brand new. The chilled breeze coming through the open window mixed comfortably with the warmth of the covers and the girl lying next to him. He leaned across her and turned off the alarm so she could sleep longer. 

Conner got out of bed and stared longingly into her gorgeous features. Her soft, plush cheeks, her thin lips, her plump bosom rising with every inward breath of air rolling along with its own tempo; she was beautiful. Karen lay there in a tight light blue t-shirt and panties, although the covers sheltered her panties.

Conner yawned listlessly as he made his way into the kitchen. He wiped his eyes, fiddled with his hair, and pulled the ground coffee out of the freezer. He poured one-and-a-half scoops into a filter, placed it inside the coffee machine, poured water in, and turned it on. He sat down at his small, wooden kitchen table.

His New York flat was comfortable and could easily house one person as well as two. The kitchen contained the square table with two cheap, wooden chairs, a cheap refrigerator, the coffee pot, and cabinet space. The kitchen bled into a small living room with a couch that didn't match the rest of the poor atmosphere; this couch was actually hospitable. A cheap TV, sat in front of a coffee table that was in front of the couch, and a desk in the corner finished the living room. An opened door ran into the bedroom that contained a square window, a bed, an end table, a chest-of-drawers, and a small closet.**

* * *

**

**Part II: If Winter Ends**

The days after his mother's funeral had really dragged Conner along slowly. He didn't do much. He spent the nights drinking, the mornings hung over, and the afternoons foraging so he would have enough money to do it again the next night. The passing citizens never said a word to him; they maybe mumbled a sentence to a friend or just grunted in displeasure at his lifestyle.

The days of Winter were moving along so slowly. Conner wore a plethora of clothes and plenty of covers at night as he slept. The chilly air blew threw the windows he left open.

One night Conner was dreaming. He dreamt of a fever, one to cure him of his cold, winter-set heart with a heat to melt all of his frozen tears. Although he had a tough shell, his inside was crying; depression was devouring all hope. His tears were cold and chilly as they ran down his cheeks. Whenever one's body starts shutting down and one loses all warmth the body should contain, one needs to take another sip of gin. This heat he dreamt of gave him reason to move on, reason to start again. The heat was overwhelming, shining brighter than the sun and consuming all of reality. This heat had a name; her name sounded off the town's lips, "drunk, drunk".

Conner woke with a start. The wind had gotten even colder, yet Conner felt a little bit of heat returning to his body. So, he shed one layer of clothing leaving him in an orange-red t-shirt, boxers, socks, and a thin, black choker around his neck. He ambled to his chest-of-drawers and pulled on some fading blue jeans. He grabbed a navy, zip-up hooded sweatshirt from his closet and pulled on his usual slip-on Converse. He headed out the door before checking the clock, 2:03 a.m.

Conner had no idea where was going; he just needed to get somewhere. He just plunged forward without a light to follow, but he knew he would follow anything if it could get him out of here.

As he walked with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, Conner recalled a conversation he had had with the mayor.  
"_We're giving you six months to adapt, and then two more to leave town if you must. And if in the event you do adapt, we, in other words, the citizens, may not want you around."_ He had said. Conner was infuriated with the fact that he couldn't live in his childhood town, not that he wanted to live there, but just the fact that his rights were being taken away from him really boiled his temper. So, Conner decided to fall for the promise of a life with a purpose. Although he new it would be hard, he wanted to prove everyone wrong, but he knew that it seemed impossible now.

Conner pulled himself up on top of a hill just outside of the main part of town. He pulled out a black, velvet flask with a silver chain and silver top. He unscrewed the chain and chugged some whiskey.

"So, are you just drinking to stay warm?" a calm voice asked from behind. Conner turned quickly and saw Karen stepping out behind some trees into the moonlight.

"And to kill selected memories," Conner wittily replied "because I just can't think anymore about that or about her tonight."

"Your mother?" Karen seemed a bit confused, but Conner nodded and things started making sense to her.

"I give myself three days to feel better," he mused aloud, more to himself than to Karen. "Or I swear I'll drive right off a fucking cliff. Because I can't make myself feel better, so how can I expect anyone else to give a shit?"

Karen nodded and sat down next to Conner. Her hair was held loosely against her head as the wind picked it up and played with it. The scent of lavender took hold of Conner, and he closed his eyes. She took the flask from his hand and sucked some of it down herself; her eyes started watering. Conner opened his eyes and rubbed some tears from his cheek.

"And I scream for the sunlight or a car to take me anywhere; just get me past this dead and eternal snow because I swear that I am dying, slowly, but it's happening." His hazy voice was shaking.

"And if the perfect spring is waiting somewhere; just take me there, and lie to me and say it's going to be alright." He shuddered as he wiped the rest of the tears away.

"It's going to be alright," Karen said softly as she rubbed his back. "Yeah, you worry too much, kid. It's going to be alright."

**

* * *

**

A high-pitched beeping broke Conner's reverie. He looked over and saw that the coffee pot was full. He stood up, grabbed a mug from a cabinet, and poured himself some coffee. He sat back down and sipped it delicately, letting the aroma and taste cool his senses. Mornings had always been the calmest time of day for Conner.

**

* * *

**

**Part III: Act of Contrition**

Conner had started the next day in a drunken reverie after spending a quiet evening on Mother's Hill with Karen. He was trying to recall what had happened; he couldn't remember what he had said. He was known to be a confessional drunk, which he hoped he hadn't been last night.

The air was all dust and not so untamed as the many days dragged by. The ground seemed like it had opened up and swallowed all of the rain from the past few weeks because Conner's seeds he had planted had grown splendidly. The turnips were ready for harvesting and the potatoes and cucumbers were almost ready, but with all of the time spent farming, the ground also seemed to have swallowed Karen too since Conner hadn't seen her in days.

As Conner was placing turnips into his shipping bin, a voice called out cheerily. "Conner!" Conner turned to see a radiant Ann walking towards him.

"Hey, Ann," he said.

"Hey, wow! These crops are coming along fantastically; you'll make a lot of money off of them."

"I'm just glad I can actually grow things. So, what'd you stop by for?"

"Well, I wanted to invite you to the Inn this evening. My father and I want to make a dinner for you."

"Thanks. I'll stop by. What time?"

"Come around seven." They said their goodbyes and then she departed.

At that same moment Karen was working at her family's supermarket. With the influx of semi-warm weather as Spring started moving along, she had been kept busy selling seeds nonstop. She barely had time to grab a drink before she went home to bed and crashed. Her friend Rick walked into the store, his eyes darting around at all the people before spotting Karen, giving her a wave, and walking towards her. His medium length orange hair fell loosely in front of his large glasses as he smiled. He was wearing a semi-dark green long-sleeved t-shirt with a blue apron.

"Hey, Karen," he started.

"Hey. Walk and talk," she commanded as she started reorganizing certain items.

"Well, since it is your mother's birthday, I was wondering if your mother, father, and you would like to come over to the farm for a birthday dinner celebration."

"Sure," she smiled, "my mother will love it!" Rick wiped his brown inconspicuously and said goodbye.

As night rolled around Doug and Ann had cooked a nice feast and so had Rick and his family. Conner was exiting his house at the same time as Karen left hers with her mother and father. She led them to Rick's home but said she wanted a minute outside. Conner stood outside the Inn and looked inside the windows, just as Karen did the same. The bright light shining out bathed their pale skin and turned them to ghosts looking in at the families and friends that had abandoned them after death. As they all sat down for dinner they waited for their last party member to get home. They all set a place for Conner and Karen respectively.

Conner turned from the window and walked briskly to Mother's Hill. He sat down near a tree and huddled around his cigarette to get warm. The sound of crunching grass caused Conner to try and make himself invisible. Karen walked into the moonlight with a book in her hands and started reading out of it. The light caused the velvet book to shine and the word 'Diary' could be seen written on the front of the book. A tear rolled down her cheek and gleamed in the moonlight.

"Don't believe everything that you read in that diary of yours," Conner said mistily. Karen jumped and turned. When she saw Conner, a feeble smile formed on her lips.

"How do you know what I'm reading in this diary?"

"Are you proposing that everyone is out to get you and that you have no way of maintaining a social life in that diary?" She nodded meekly.

"You know how you asked me if I wanted to leave town at the beginning of the season?"

"Yeah," Conner replied.

"I'm ready to take that trip. Let's go." Conner smiled without showing teeth and stood up. He handed the cigarette to her as he took the diary and tossed it into a tree. She took a few puffs before handing it back.

Half an hour later Conner was in the driver's seat of his car, heading north. His hands were shaking.

"Am I making you nervous?" She asked reticently.

"This nervousness, it isn't all your fault. It's just these shaking hands won't do what I want them to. Just like that act of contrition that rolled of our tongues as we left." He turned to look at her as the radio played discreetly in the background, just a static lullaby. A tear fell down her cheek.

"What're you crying for?" She shook her head and turned to look outside the passenger's window. She got comfortable and closed her eyes. Conner continued talking, more to himself than to her.

"Just dust my heart, and you will find there are no fingers printed there," he mumbled. "Just the untouched place that lies inside of every lonely boy tonight." He rolled the windows down to murder the awkward silence. She patted his arm.

"And all of this open air has caused me to choke on your new found hope for me," they said resignedly.

**

* * *

**

**Part IV: For the New World Order**

A slightly cool something touched Conner's shoulder, and he jumped. He turned to see Karen wearing one of his long-sleeved t-shirts to cover her body.

"Morning, sleepy head," Conner said with a smile. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure," she smiled. Man, is she beautiful, Conner thought to himself, even in the mornings. It looked like she had fiddled with her bed head hair before presenting herself in front of Conner, but she was radiant without her hair dolled up.

"So," Karen said after her coffee had been delivered to her. "What are today's plans?"

"Well, since I have no breakfast food, I was thinking we could go out for breakfast, and later I have something I really want to show on Third Street. Bring your camera."

"Okay, sounds good."

The two finished their coffee before heading downtown to a diner that served pastries and coffee. They had breakfast and then walked the forty blocks to the middle of the place Conner had heard that everything would be. They wore sweaters to block out the nippy weather, and Karen had her single-lens reflex fifty-one millimeter camera with its flash draped around her neck. As they approached the center of Third Street, the noise of a crowd took a hold of them so that they were required to shout to one another. Men and women of all ages were gathered holding signs with phrases condemning the war. Flash. She took the black-and-white picture of dedication. As they neared the middle of the crowd, a man pinned a ribbon to their sweaters. Flash. She took the black-and-white picture of beauty in the midst of ugliness. Karen instinctively grabbed Conner's hand (Flash. She took a picture of love) as they got behind the barricades that were there to keep the gatherers off the street, but the crowd kept pushing forward until they swallowed the police. Flash. She took a picture of human desperation and rebellion.

"Yeah, they went wild…" Karen whispered inaudibly as she clutched Conner's hand and stared out at the crowd screaming and revolting against the government. Flash. She took a picture of nervousness. It really was a beautiful site to see. The mass of people was rampaging, and Karen started shivering. Conner wrapped a red scarf around her neck and nodded. Flash. She took a picture of fear. He knew she wanted to go home.

They left before the dust had time to settle. All the broken glass was being swept off the avenue as the grim, gray sky hung over their heads. The crowd had departed to reek havoc elsewhere. And on the way home, Karen held her camera like a bible just wishing so bad that it held some kind of truth.

As they passed a photography store, Karen pulled Conner inside.

"May we use your darkroom?" The clerk nodded. Conner stood nervous next to Karen in the darkroom; as she dropped the paper in the water, it all began to bloom. The pictures were flowers cascading upward grabbing Conner and Karen and bringing them closer to one another.

"Yeah, they go wild…" they whispered together. They started repeating themselves each time they developed a picture.

"Yeah, they go wild!" Conner hollered as the pictures were finished. They exited the darkroom and headed home.

**

* * *

**

Before they had gone to bed the night before, Conner and Karen were staring at each other in the entryway of Conner's apartment. He smiled as he led her to his bedroom. The feeling was mutual as they undressed into the bare minimum. The room was freezing as the huddled together under the covers. Conner pulled Karen into his arms and held her. He kissed her cheek before she laid her head on his chest and fell asleep. Conner never did quite fall asleep. He spent the whole night stroking Karen's soft hair and watching her chest as it rose and fell delicately; it was his turn to be the strong one. The night dragged on slowly as he finally fell asleep.

* * *

With the photographs hung and plastered on easels around Conner as he sat on a chair clutching a trumpet and a guitar, Conner gave the concert to his audience. Karen and Conner had followed the crowd to its ending point in a park. The men and women were clutching each other and swaying side to side as Conner played a taps-like etude on his trumpet with the notes rising and falling mournfully. He laid the trumpet down and started strumming the guitar as he took a deep breath of air in and spotted Karen in the crowd. 

"And just when I get so lonesome I can't _speak_! I see some flowers on the hillside like a wall of new TVs. Yeah, they go wild!" He repeated the last sentence several times as he strummed hard and angrily on the guitar, his voice breaking as the deafening and doleful shrieks emanated for miles.

"Yeah, they go wild," he finally whispered as he finished the song with a country twang added to the high notes that he had picked up from Mineral Town. Maybe he didn't know it yet, but the town was really growing on him.

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**A/N: **I hope you all had a few "Aww! How cute!" moments. If not, then I hope you will later. I was just trying to establish Karen and Conner's relationship where they walk the thin line(s) between acquaintances, friends, and lovers with this chapter and show that maybe Conner does like Mineral Town. Thanks to all who review; I hope to have the next chapter up within two months.


	4. Lua

_**Harvest Moon: The Yellow Bird**_  
_by AcinBC_

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harvest Moon. I do not own any lyrics that are written, and if I do, I will say so. I do no own the album or any of the songs this story is based on. I do not own any of the characters, just the situations I put them in and the personalities I give them.

**AUTHOR'S** **NOTE**: Another two months have passed, my friends. Ah well. I am glad to have a few devout readers. I thank you so much to all who have reviewed, and I will try and reply as soon as possible. My life has been extremely busy, and I was only able to finish this chapter because of the week off for Thanksgiving Break. Life has been complicated. I am so busy; it's crazy. I had received a question on what album this story is based off of, and I would like to answer it. The story is based off of the album "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" by the band Bright Eyes. The story follows the songs almost exactly, and almost every random one liner probably comes from the song each chapter is based. The chapter names are the particular song's titles, and since there are ten songs on the album, there will be ten chapters. Everyone will probably hate the ending, but it's already been planned out and written. I wrote the last chapter a long time ago, before I decided to turn this story into a Harvest Moon fanfic. Anyways, I apologize for my sluggishness in posting this chapter, and I hope you all enjoy. :)

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**Chapter 4:  
****Lua**

"I know that it is freezing, but I think we have to walk," Conner said as he pulled on his sneakers. He was watching the elegant Karen pull a divine outfit onto her slim body. They had spent the past few days shopping, sleeping, and drinking. The distance between them had grown smaller as they spent every waking moment with one another. Conner had on a slim, black, tweed coat with a white dress shirt on underneath and a black tie. His hair was shot all over the place; it hadn't been washed in three days, and his eyes were already glazed.

"That'll be fine," replied Karen. The massive white pearls around her neck and the bracelets piled on her wrists jingled as she moved. Her hair was pulled back into a chic but disorganized bun. Her lips were pure and red. Her face was a painted cake; New York had changed her. She needed to get back where she belonged. Tonight would be the celebratory party for the two heading back to Mineral Town _if_ all worked well. The dainty black dress pulled across her body was stunning. She never looked more beautiful, but Conner found himself missing her cuteness.

"I keep waving at the taxis; they keep turning their lights off," Conner moaned as they made their way down a frosty sidewalk. The wind blew their frayed bodies as Conner waved at the fourth taxi driving by. Karen reached for Conner's hand as goose bumps formed on her arms; the dress was sleeveless. She had no coat.

"But Julie knows a party at some actor's west side loft."

The two huddled together as they made their way down the frozen streets to the apartment. They were late. Not so fashionably. Conner said his "hey's", "how ya been's", and "good seeing ya's" as he made his way to the liquor. He poured Karen and himself a martini as he introduced his date to his friends.

Throughout the night, bottles broke, music played, and conversations competed for space. Conner was always trying to look for a corner or a quieter part of the room. He huddled in a corner near the stairs as he watched Karen, the drunk Karen, the life-of-the-party Karen, the new Karen, the New York Karen, the not his Karen; there's no heat in the house. He pulled his sleeves up around his hands as he sipped down his fifth, or maybe sixth, straight shot of vodka. Just to keep warm of course. He reached for the whiskey in his velvet flask; he was getting cold again. The two drinks didn't mix too well. His insides burned. Up they came onto the tiled floor. He headed to a new corner.

Conner found himself sitting on a loveseat next to the staircase. He couldn't breathe with all of the words in his mouth, but he decided not to say any of them to the people passing by—he's made that mistake before. On the stairs, a blonde beauty grabbed his arm.

"What's up? Where you been? Is something wrong?" She looked concerned. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

He tried to smile and then said, "Everything's fine."

Hours later. He was near the stairs, or were those couches, or stools? Trip, fall, crash.

"Supplies are endless in the evening, by the morning they'll be gone," Conner muttered as he finished his whiskey and passed out.

Conner woke to a splitting headache and Karen gone. He pulled himself up off the floor, stepped over bodies lined across the floor like army men shot dead on D-Day, and tried to find the girl of his dreams. He searched upstairs and downstairs and couldn't find her. He tried to call her, but the dial tone on his phone made his eyes water. Conner slipped two bottles of alcohol into his coat as he made his way out into the sunshiny day.

It was one of those nippy spring days where the sun feels good on your skin, but the shadows are chilly. He enjoyed pulling up and down his sleeves depending on where his next step took him. He eventually reached his apartment, empty.

"When everything gets lonely, I can be my own best friend," he told himself. He put the liquor in its proper place and started coffee. The clock read nearly seven am. It was too early to do anything, but too late to go back to sleep. He sighed and walked into his bathroom, undressed, and took a warm, soothing shower. That always soothed him when he was hung over. Always hung over, always taking warm showers. He got out, threw up his insides, and then went to pour his coffee.

"Just get a coffee and the paper; have my own conversations," he encouraged himself. The day could go okay without Karen, right? He had lived several months alone before her arrival, right? That was living… _right?_

Conner got his mail and the newspaper and read all of them. He read the entire paper for once and even paid his bills. He walked around the house tidying up the messes he had made, throwing up every half-hour or so. He made pot after pot of coffee throughout the day. He fixed the sink, did the dishes, and washed his clothes. He vacuumed the carpets, dusted everything, and went OCD on where he put everything. The apartment felt more amiable.

"With the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection," he listed things to do. He went outside and swept the sidewalk that led to the entrance of his apartment building. Not sure why since it's not his. He took a walk to the park and fed the pigeons. He came home and stared out the window. He watched people for fun. He scoffed at them to his reflection. He made fun of their outfits and their demeanors and their partners or their lovers. Everyone is such a loser.

"Everything's gonna be alright. She'll walk through that door," he glanced at the clock, "any minute now." He watched the door. He re-vacuumed. He mopped. He made his bed. Drank coffee. Slept. Smoked a few packs of cigarettes. Sold meaningless items and made a lot of cash. Bought more cigarettes, coffee, and alcohol. Smoked. Drank spiked coffee. Glazed his eyes. Fell asleep. Woke up. Not much else to do when you're alone.

She still wasn't home.

Conner squinted at the clock. It was now ten pm. "It's okay." … Plus thirty minutes.

"Everything will be fine." … Plus forty-five minutes.

"She'll come home any time now." … Plus an hour.

"Yeah." …

After two more hours of waiting for her, Conner sighed and stared at his TV.

"The mask I polish in the evening, by the morning looks like shit." He couldn't convince himself otherwise, got depressed, and fell into a deep slumber.

Conner woke up to his alarm clock screaming. He reached to turn it off and entered the kitchen to find Karen belligerently smoking a cigarette. He cleared his throat, and she turned her head.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she replied. Conner poured himself some coffee Karen had made and sat down.

"So, uh, where ya been?" he said after settling himself comfortably with a newspaper in his hands.

"Here and there. Didn't accomplish much," she sighed. "Well, uh. I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed."

"Okay," Conner responded.

She made her exit from the room and the shower came on. Conner sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. Taking one step forward but two steps backward, the tension in the house grew.

Karen came back an hour later with little but a towel on. She sat down across from Conner.

"I lov—" "I wanna lea—" Conner and Karen said at the same time, respectively.

"You first," Conner insisted. She smiled sincerely as her wet hair fell unkemptly.

"I think I'm ready to head back to Mineral Town, Conner. We've spent nearly two weeks here, and I'm eager to get home. I'm sure everyone's worried."

"Yeah," he said, disenchanted, "I agree."

"Alright. We can leave the day after tomorrow," she paused as the awkwardness flourished. "What were you going to say?"

"Oh, uh. It's not important. Do you want to leave sooner?"

"No. I want to celebrate leaving, again, just the two of us this time. How 'bout it?"

Conner's heart warmed "Sounds good."

The two spent the rest of the day talking as little as possible. Karen often stared at her window reflection while Conner read or cleaned. Karen walked towards Conner and gave him a delicate kiss on the lips, indifferently.

"And I know you have a heavy heart," Conner said to Karen that evening as they lay together in bed before going to sleep, "I can feel it when we kiss. So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it, but me I'm not a gamble you can count on me to split."

"The love I sell you in the evening," they both whispered, "by the morning won't exist." And they fell asleep with glum thoughts on their minds. Karen let a tear trickle down her cheek as they said goodnight on their own separate sides like brothers on a hotel bed.

That night Conner dreamt of Mineral Town. He didn't see much satisfaction in going back there besides continuing the life his mother had started. One-day maybe the farm would be back to normal, but as for now, Conner wasn't so sure.

"You're looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black," Conner said that next evening as the two dined at a fancy French restaurant. Karen had a stunning black dress on that she said she got when she was away. The dress tied around her at about her shoulder blades, but from her low spine up there was no part of the dress. One could see her ribcage as she breathed. Karen's brown hair with blonde highlights was slightly pulled back into a loose bun with curly strands falling out of the ponytail holder. A few curly bangs got loose from behind her ears as she ate. Her pearly necklace and earrings weren't her at all. The black mascara and eye shadow consumed her eyelids. He had to admit, she did look beautiful, but it wasn't her. New York had slapped Conner in the face making him miss Mineral Town, but it had consumed Karen.

Conner wore a the same white dress shirt, black tie, black pants, and black blazer, but he had a red rose boutonnière pinned to his overcoat. He rested his head on his palm as he stared into Karen's eyes.

"What?" she asked furiously "is there something in my teeth?"

"No," he replied timidly.

He sipped some more wine. Three glasses? No, four. Or three bottles? He chewed on the bland food he couldn't afford. Karen nibbled her food like a chipmunk, always taking a sip of water after swallowing half a forkful of food. Nibble. Nibble. You stupid chipmunk.

Karen stood up and placed her napkin on the table.

"I'll be right back," she smiled.

"You just keep going to the bathroom, always say you'll be right back," he whispered to himself as he poured himself another glassful of wine. His mouth was numb. His tongue was a sponge. His gums were enflamed. His eyes were watering. He cheeks were red. His forehead was hot. His chest was cold. His hands were shaking. His legs couldn't stop moving. He was worthless. A worthless drunk. He sighed.

Karen came back and finished not even one-third of her large plate before excusing herself to the bathroom again. She then chugged her water and then attacked the wine.

"Well, it takes one to know one, kid; I think you got it bad," he said to her as she returned from the bathroom again.

"What does that mean?" Conner sighed and just shook his head.

"Nothing. Nothing. You through?"

"Yes," she said as she corked the wine bottle and slipped it into Conner's jacket, "I think I need this more than they do." Conner rolled his eyes.

They walked toward the park where they shared chugs from the wine bottle. Karen rested her head on Conner's shoulder with his blazer draped around her shoulders.

"You know," she slurred, "I thought I was in love with you. You and I are so alike; it's insane." Conner looked up. His eyes were burning. Bags were forming around her eyes as the make-up wore off. Wrinkles formed. No one looks pretty when they're drunk.

"You're, you're drunk, Karen. Shut up," he garbled in reply.

"No, really. I did. I dunno. Then I left that one-day and got boned by some random guy. Yeah, and he, he threw me against the wall that morning. And, I dunno." Within a few minutes she fell into a drunken stupor upon his lap. He could tell she had lied. No one tells the truth that unsubtly. He stroked her hair with tears rolling down his cheeks burning the pores.

"I loved you, too," he leaned back to prepare himself for sleep on the hard, wooden bench, "but what's so easy in the evening, by the morning's such a drag."

"I've got a flask inside my pocket; we can share it on the train," Conner said as he dragged his small duffel bag with Karen's suitcases. She was trying to walk a straight line on their way to the train stop. It was a game for her. Always a game. Everything was a game to her. He can't stand her. Her sunglasses were large and pretty much ate her face. They were white, encrusted with diamonds. "And if you promise to stay conscious, I will try and do the same," he continued.

They were wearing comfortable sweaters and scarves as they dilly-dallied around buying their tickets. Conner didn't pay her way. Spring had already arrived, and they weren't too eager. Spring is too warm, too happy.

In a matter of minutes they found themselves seated on a run-down train. The seats were blue with derogatory comments written in black marker. The seats also had holes slashed into them. She was leaning against the window, her glasses covering her face. It amazed Conner how many times he thought she had never looked more beautiful. He said it to himself constantly, especially this time as she wiped a few strands of hair from her brow. She sniffed a little here and there but mostly kept her peace and sipped the scotch in the black velvet flask. He was getting tired of this vague quietness. It had been like this since they woke up to sprinklers splashing them with freezing, soggy water. They had made their way to his apartment in silence, packed in silence, and drank tea in silence. Everything was pretty messed up.

Conner watched Karen, never taking his eyes off her angelic skin. He noticed her reach into her pocket to pull out a small bottle. She turned away as she popped some pills and chugged them with bitter scotch.

"We might die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain," Conner said. She turned to look at him, sunglasses and all. All she did was nod. She was nothing. Thin, brittle, pale, sunglasses-ified. There was nothing to her. She was a traveling, wandering silhouette of a ghost, and yet, she never looked more beautiful.

Conner sighed as he leaned his head back to fall asleep. He was getting sick of this. As soon as Conner had fallen asleep, Karen took her sunglasses off. She stared at the man who looked more like a boy with his mouth wide open and enlarged, drunken tongue hanging out. He was so stupid, pathetic. And yet, he had never looked more beautiful. Karen softly kissed his cheek as she wiped the one-thousandth, nine-hundredth tear from her puffy eyes. Her mascara had bled off thousands of minutes ago. Her cheeks had lost all color. She was a bombshell of misery. A green-eyed lightning bolt. A sunrise and a sunset. The cataclysmic meteor coming to destroy earth. And yet, she never looked more beautiful.

Karen pulled her legs up on the seat with her and fell asleep in fetal position with her back to the window. Sunglasses on, with a cute, vogue scarf bought from some slaving, cuntwhore who slaughters animals for fur. At least it is colorful, like a rainbow. Conner woke up as she fell asleep. He kissed her cheek softly. Stop. Pause. End scene. Redo. Take five. Fall asleep. Other role, wake up. Kiss. Extra. Kiss. Sleep. End scene. Take six.

Conner sighed as he saw the stop for Mineral Town pulling up. He let Karen sleep. They had a few minutes before they would depart. He sighed again, but this time with words in his mouth, "But what was normal in the evening, by the morning seems insane."

And I'm not sure what the trouble was, Conner thought, that started all of this. He looked at Karen as he lugged their heavy baggage to Karen's home. The reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did. He sighed. I think too much. Stop thinking.

"So, uh," he mumbled, "what're you gonna do now?"

"Not sure. I guess go back to work."

"Yeah," Conner nodded as they passed many jaw dropped citizens. They whispered insincere nothings into each other's ears about the two. The customs of the town are old-fashioned. Thus, if a man and a woman run off together without supervision, it is believed they will have sex, and if they do not marry, then the woman is a tramp and the man is ungentlemanly.

They finally neared Jeff's superstore. They entered.

"Oh my God! Darling—" Sasha cut off, "Jeff! Come quick; Karen's home!" Jeff rushed in from the storage room in the back and gripped his daughter strongly. He hugged her and kissed her.

"Oh, Karen, we've been worried sick about you!"

"Never just up and leave on us again!" Sasha butted in. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, leaving in the middle of the night with that _boy_."

"Yeah, just act like I'm not here," Conner mumbled. "I'll be going Karen. I'll see you later."

"Oh no you won't! You get out of here. Scram!" Women.

Conner stalked back to his mother's house with his luggage. He passed degrading citizens, children playing and laughing as the hatred brewed from him like a pot of tea. He pulled open his door, slammed it shut when he was inside, and threw his things every which-away. He then retrieved his cornucopia of mail. He skimmed through the letters briefly. Apparently, he had missed three festivals and a load of petty drama. Conner unpacked hastily before scarfing down a loaf of bread for supper. He then grabbed his mother's old hammer, axe, and sickle from the toolbox. He set about cutting weeds, smashing rocks, and chopping wood that was in the farming area. The sky was burning. It was a board on an easel. It was a lush of colors painted magnificently. Reds, oranges, pinks, purples, blues, every shade of the rainbow. The wind blew his trashed body. He stalked about attacking all of the trash that had collected on the field. He malevolently did so.

"I'll show them!" _Pound!_ "They don't know me!" _Crack! _"Damn them and their lies and their bullshit drama!" _Slice!_ Tears poured down his face as he saw his mother laboring away at the same tasks. He beat the rocks to smithereens, hacked the lumber until there was nothing left, and destroyed all of the weeds. He threw all of the items aside as he had cleared a fifty by fifty cubic feet space to farm. It had taken him about three hours. He wiped the sweat from his brow and spit at the ground. He grabbed his hoe and slashed into the ground, tilling it for the seeds.

"Bastards! They don't know me." He screamed and hollered and cried. The rage, love, and sorrow all just poured out of him in one extreme ball of terror.

"Karen!" He smashed the ground. "You slut!"

"Sasha!" He smashed the ground. "You cunt!"

"Jeff!" He smashed the ground. "You timid fag!"

"Doug!" _Smash! _"You kindhearted fool!"

"Ann!" _Smash! _"You boy!"

"Carter!" _Smash! _"You douche!"

"MOM!" _Smash! _"You idiot!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW ME! My grief! My horror! My life is pathetic!" His voice changed to a more despondent, quiet mood. "It's not something I would recommend, but it is one way to live. 'Cause what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is. Damn it all!" He finished tilling the earth. He spread the few seeds his mother had left. They were probably dead. They wouldn't grow. He screamed out in fury. They won't grow. What's the point? Why live? Why create life when it only dies? He then filled the watering can and spread water over all the seeds. Finally, after three more hours at about 1:30 in the morning, he collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. The crickets chirped. The cicadas cackled. The birds fluttered. Wolves howled. The wind blew. Trees rustled. Everything was wonderfully beautiful on this particular night.

A man can only take so much grief before he caves in. A profuse amount of emotions swirling around like protons, neutrons, and electrons in an atom can only last so long. But like the laws of physics tell us, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. Just like happiness in Conner. It can neither be created nor destroyed. It just exists. It may be there for one second, but then disappears, like in instances when the boy watches a movie with a happy ending that ties at the knot in his throat making him feeling nostalgic and happy. Or the happiness could last a long while like when he spent time with his mother or when he was on stage singing and doing what he loved. The boy is a poetic retelling of an unfortunate life. He is the epitome of hopelessness, hard work, and love. He won't tell you much. His feelings come in bursts of energy like that of a car switching gears. If his feelings do exist and are subdued, they will erupt like the volcano at Pompeii. Crash like the waves at Atlantis. Burn like the forest fires in California. Melt like the icebergs in the Arctic. Everything will erupt, explode, or die at one point or another.

As Conner lay there on the dirty ground in his cardigan, navy, v-neck sweater and wrinkled khaki pants, the moon shined over him. A Spring moon. A comfortable moon. Everything in life works out eventually, doesn't it? Karen sat at home in her window watching the same moon with the same tears about to dream the same dreams. In her pink sweater with her wrinkled skirt with her torn tights and her fur scarf.

"It was so simple in the moonlight, now it's so complicated." The stars twinkled sullenly, and men and women smiled in their sleep. But not Karen. And especially not Conner. The world is a dangerous place. People laugh and people cry.

"It was so simple in the moonlight, so simple in the moonlight…"

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**A/N**: I have to say that I wrote the whole last two pages in a flurry. They came and just poured out of me, so I apologize for any puzzlement while reading this chapter. I enjoyed writing in chain of thought though, where you write what comes in to your mind write as it happens, which probably led to a few grammatical and spelling errors I missed. I really hope this chapter opened up some of the wholes in Conner. I hope you understand him a lot better because he is such a complicated character. Anyways, thanks to all who have reviewed. I always enjoy receiving one. Expect the next chapter in approximately two months. 


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